Alexandra Taylor: Writer

Hampton, Middlesex. 1980. Seven year old Alexandra Taylor is praised for her excellent classwork and awarded a small, wooden pencil sharpener in the shape of a frog playing the flute. An innocuous event in itself, but little was teacher Mrs Allcock to realise that this minor event would alter the course of little Alexandra's life. So pleased was I with this gift that, when I saw a similar frog on a shop shelf, this time clutching a tiny baton, rigidly conducting a silent frog orchestra, I knew it had to be mine. Soon a drummer was also added to the small band of brothers, and my collection began. I often wonder if my obsession with frogs is based on some kind of irrational belief that one day one of them will turn into a handsome prince. On reflection I usually reject this theory - I don't recall ever kissing any of them, and it's more likely that I just have an obsessional personality. If it hadn't been frogs it could have been spiders, snakes, or even earwigs. B...

Yesterday I had veggie burgers for dinner. With chips and peas. Because that’s what the serving suggestion suggested. I felt comforted and secure - I only had to settle on the burgers and the rest of the meal was already decided for me. Today I determined to have some lovely mushroom grills, but in seeking the comfort of the serving suggestion on the packet I found myself plunged into confusion - a confusion that has forced me to re-evaluate the nature of the world today.  The serving suggestion on the packet of mushroom grills showed the succulent delicacy surrounded by a colourful array of vegetables - baby corn-on-the-cobs, finely diced carrots, peas and courgettes. But I don’t like courgettes!  At first the answer seemed simple - just have the meal without the courgettes. But there was more to it than that. One question kept asserting itself in my head and refused to go away. If I wasn’t going to follow the serving suggestion exactly, then why follow it at all? A h...

Because I commute, because my job takes me all over the country and because I don't have a car I spend a lot of time on trains. I spend almost as much time waiting at stations. This experience has led me to the inevitable conclusion that Milton Keynes Central is the most evil place on earth.  Initial impressions are deceptive - like most things in Milton Keynes the building is a massive, shiny, sqare edifice with an enormous, triumphant, swastika of a rail symbol dominating its front. It proclaims modernity, status, efficiency. But like many things with an appealing appearance, what lies behind is cold, empty and without soul.  There are two types of rail passenger, and MKC lets them both down. Sometimes I am Type Number One, racing to catch a train in the nick of time.There is panic in my mind - it's the last train, I'll miss my connection, the shops will be closed, I'll be too late for the play/dinner/cinema/that film on Channel 4 I've been waiting months to s...